


The lion's mane

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hair, Hair Braiding, Kissing, Nudity, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili's wife plays with his hair to relax him while he tells the news of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lion's mane

The hour was late, the candles burning low, and you sat nestled into a stack of pillows on your bed, taking halfhearted stabs at your needlepoint in the dim light and waiting.

At last, the sound of the front door opening reached your ears. It closed again with the metallic thud of the bolt sliding home, heavy footfalls made their way across the sitting room, and Fili’s cheeks dimpled with an apologetic smile when he entered the bedroom and found you wakeful to welcome him.

“There you are,” you said, laying your needle and thread aside on the nightstand, “what’s kept you?”

His weighty, leather belt dropped to the floor with a clunk, and he shrugged off his overcoat. “Council meeting went late.”

“Shall I get you something to eat?” You made to get up from the bed, but he quickly shook his head to stay you.

“No need. Thorin had sandwiches and ale sent up to the council chamber.”

Subsiding again on the pillows, you leaned back against the headboard to watch him while he wrested his tunic over his head and discarded it on a chair. He sat on the opposite edge of the bed to pull off his boots, the muscles of his broad back rippling with his efforts, and when boots and socks alike were piled haphazardly on the floor and only his trousers remained, he flopped back onto the bed to rest his head in your lap with a sigh and a contented grin that drew a smile of your own.

“I missed you,” he said ruefully.

Your smile widened. “I missed you, too.”

You smoothed his hair away from his forehead with a tender touch, repeating the caress, reveling in the softness of the golden waves beneath your hand and the intimate privilege of tending to them, and carefully, you began to pull the beads from his braids and place them in a small, porcelain dish on the nightstand. 

Fili’s eyes closed in relaxation, that same grin still playing about his lips, as your fingers set to work carding through the thick locks of his hair, gently unraveling braids, massaging his scalp with firmer strokes, raking from roots to ends in soothing motions.

“Ahhh, that’s nice,” he sighed, reaching to catch one of your hands to press it to his lips before lacing his fingers over his bare chest.

“You deserve a little pampering, having to sit in those meetings until all hours,” you said, and he laughed lightly, opening his eyes to look at you, twinkling with unbroken news.

“Well, I’m glad I had to sit in this one, there were tidings worth hearing.”

“Of what?”

“Elanor is with child.”

“Is she? Oh, Fili, that’s wonderful! Thorin must be beside himself.”

“Aye,” he nodded, with a chuckle. “He tries to bear it in a kingly manner, but anyone can see he’s giddy as a boy at his first sparring lesson.”

“Can you blame him?” you wondered, your hands resuming their movement through his hair as you added, “oh, I _am_ happy for them.”

“As am I…happy for us, as well.”

You frowned, curling a hank of hair around your finger and letting it slowly slide free. “How so?”

Fili turned his head, twisting his neck to get a better look at your face. “ _Azyungâl_ , don’t you see? I won’t be the heir anymore.”

“If it’s a boy,” you reminded him gently.

“Which it’s like to be…or if not this child, then the next one,” he went on, a relieved smile spreading over his face. “Thorin will have a son who will stand between us and the cares of the throne, and we need bear that burden no longer, nor bequeath it to our own children.”

His gaze returned to the bed’s canopy above you, and your heart was pricked with the realization that you hadn’t known how heavily the specter of kingship weighed upon him until now, when he had been freed of it. He was nearly giddy, contemplating the possibility of a new future that did not call upon him to wear the crown of Durin.

“We can do anything we want…we could travel,” he mused, and you smiled, weaving a loose plait into his hair and combing it smooth again while you listened. “I could take you to the Ered Luin, show you the house where I grew up.”

“I’d love to see it,” you answered sincerely, but his eyes darted about as though over some invisible map, plucking ideas from its terrain.

“Or the Shire! Oh, you’d love the Shire, it’s so green, and _filled_ with flowers. And children everywhere…those Hobbits must be lustier than they look,” he frowned thoughtfully, and your laughter rippled over his words, making him laugh as well, and he sat up and turned to face you, drawing his knees up as he leaned across your legs ~~~~to plant his hand beside you on the mattress.

“Or we could just stay here,” he sighed, tracing your jawline with the backs of his fingers, “and walk by the river in the sunshine and watch the stars from the highest terrace and soak in the hot springs…perhaps make a little pebble of our own.”

You grinned, catching the spirit of his optimism and repeating, “we can do anything we want.”

“Anything,” he murmured, closing the space between you, and when your lips met you buried your hands in his wild, unbound hair, gathering soft handfuls as he deepened the kiss, tugging at the thick strands with a practiced touch, swallowing the low growl your ministrations evoked.

He broke away to arch an eyebrow at you. “Careful,” he warned teasingly, his fingers wandering to pluck at the ribbon laces at the neckline of your nightgown, slipping the knot loose.

“Or else what?” Your challenge was playful, and you brushed his lips again with your own and felt them quicken, chasing the kiss. Tensing your grasp on his hair, you guided his chin upward to nibble delicately at his warm, stubbled neck, your mouth tickled by the groan that rumbled in his throat.

With a swift movement, his arms were around your waist, pulling you with him as he fell back to lie on the bed, your legs falling astride his sturdy hips and his hands coming to rest on your thighs when you sat up to look at him. 

“You always look so beautiful from this vantage point,” he purred, drawing small swirls with his fingertips on your hips and sides that made your skin tingle with gooseflesh, even through the thin fabric of your gown. He was smirking mischievously, though the clear sea-green of his eyes was darkened by desire. “Let me be your steed, my princess.”

A flare of smoldering, yearning heat flooded your veins, and you ran your palms firmly over the muscular swells of his chest, trailing your fingers through the coarse, golden hair that adorned them. “I am the luckiest of women, that such a noble stallion should offer himself to me,” you answered impishly, with an exaggerated flutter of your eyelashes.

With a low, throaty laugh, his hands moved to the ruffled hem of your nightgown, pushing it ever higher until he quickly raised himself up to whisk it over your head before lying down again.

“I don’t know why you bother with these things,” he said, waving the light fabric in his hands like a flag of surrender before tossing it to the floor, “they never stay on for long.”

“Not with my husband around,” you chuckled dryly, and he drew you down into his embrace, his arms strong around you and the warmth of his skin against yours sending pleasant shivers through you.

“My _azyungâl_ ,” Fili’s voice was lost in a loving murmur of Khuzdul endearments into your skin, and you plunged your hands into the thick softness of his hair once again, steadying yourself as much as tantalizing him. His eyes met yours, his lips only a breath away, and love and longing passed wordlessly between you, lighting his face with the happiest of smiles. 

The future was bright, indeed.


End file.
